


Incoherent

by SisterSunny



Series: Unafilliated [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Basically Practice, But Proud Of Some Of These So, Homophobic Language, Multi, One Shot Collection, POV First Person, POV Second Person, POV Third Person, Suicide Attempt, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-20
Updated: 2020-05-20
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:53:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24287686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SisterSunny/pseuds/SisterSunny
Summary: A collection of drabbles during exam week/monthChapter 1 - The bitch that killed him has been found, and it's time to talk.Chapter 2 - Jack watches traffic pass him by as he stands on the motorway. A peppy stranger joins him.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Unafilliated [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1753300
Kudos: 1





	1. You & Me

**Author's Note:**

> If you decided that despite your dislike of 1st/2nd person, you'd take a peek at this chapter anyway, then please give it a chance! I swear it's not some kind of y/n bs 'you' & 'I' are established characters.

She was never the calm persona.

Her eyes darted around rooms she entered, searching for danger — or maybe, searching for prey. And her voice was deathly still, unwavering, confident. She knew what she was saying, when, how; but you had assumed it was because she was telling the truth.

You never thought it was because she adept at telling lies.

“I,” Teriu begins.

You wait for her to continue, but she doesn’t. Her eyes lock on something outside the window. It’s as if she thinks that by acting as if she hadn’t spoken, her fantasy will hold truth. Like if she wills it hard enough, you’ll forget.

You laugh. It’s pained, dry — like sandpaper, it hurts to feel it scrape past your throat. You do it anyway, because this is hilarious.

No, it’s fucking _hilarious._

Confident Teriu, sure Teriu. What happened to her? Was she so confident when she uttered white lies; pearlescent, like the marble of the mansion’s façade? She was, wasn’t she. Neither you nor she pretend that both of you will wake up tomorrow.

“Yes?” You prompt, because although she doesn’t quite squirm, it’s close enough.

“Sorry?” She replies, yet to meet your eyes.

“You killed him.”

Teriu doesn’t flinch. “Yes.”

Your lips thin dangerously. “And you’re not _apologising?”_

“No.”

That bitch is staring at me, I can feel it, I can hear it like her heartbeat as that fucking hag mourns her perfect husband like the perfect wife. I can see it too, out of the corner of my eye-

I can’t, I can’t, what if she kills me? What if I die? I’ll die, and then I won’t be alive to do the things I love and.

Because I, oh I, I shouldn’t have, but I _did, okay?_ Because I did, and I, I-

“I,”

I.

There’s a bird in the sky outside. It’s flapping its wings, its taunting me. _‘I’m free. Look at me, you bitch. You wish you could have this.’_

And that soot-stained piece of shit is right. All I ever wanted was to fucking _go,_ to jump, out of the window, onto a sword? No. No, out of the door. Down a flight of stairs, and down yet another. I’d burst through the entrance, the entrance to the outside, and.

And the bitch before me _laughs._ Laughs, like she’s laughing at my pathetic hope, my last vestige of hope.

She won’t live to see her husband’s corpse nourish a tree.

“Yes?”

What — I look at her, but she’s making no sense. Why did she laugh, again? Had I made a joke? Was my hope a _joke?_

“Sorry?” And I’m _not_ sorry. That man had what was coming. I never wanted to be here, so I lash out _once._ And he locks me in my room. _‘It’s for your own good, Teriu. You need to learn to tolerate yourself.’_

He, that asshole, he-

“You killed him.” She accuses me of the truth with a vindictive scowl. Hah, I never thought I’d see it. The unobscured words of hidden meanings, that _everyone in this fucking mansion keeps saying,_ as if I can’t understand. As if their words were a code, and not simply a cipher. Those bitches.

“Yes.”

“And you’re not _apologising?”_

Apology. Hah — ha, haha, no. No, Khesa, no. Apology means forgiveness. At the very least, apology means guilt.

Am I guilty?

“No.”


	2. The Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is unabashedly g a y

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this for my English exam; I

Jack looks over the city with a mournful gaze. 

The roar of the motorway thunders before and behind him as he clutches onto the concrete barrier. His knuckles are white – be it from the tight grip or frigid night, he doesn’t truly care. 

His hair whips across his face as a lorry blows past. 

It’s not raining anymore. The tarmac lights up in reds and yellows, reflecting the neon traffic and over bright lights. But the stars in the sky are gone. 

He’s drenched, and vaguely aware that he’s shivering too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, someone’s imploring him to come home. But he won’t. He _can’t._ They were quite firm – sure as could be, when it came to that part. He’s not welcome back. 

It takes him too long to realise he’s not alone anymore. 

“Beautiful, innit?” 

A teenager grins up at him, a devious glint in his eyes. He’s assumed the same position Jack has, hunched over the barrier and both hands tight on the barrier.

“Horrid,” he replies. 

Whoever the stranger is, he doesn’t seem to mind Jack’s dour mood. The wide smile stays plastered on his face stubbornly. 

“Sure,” he says, although it doesn’t seem to be a ‘sure’ of concession.

“So what’s gotcha all down then, mate? Most lads don’t _normally_ brood in the median strip of motorways.” And the idiot’s _looking_ at him, now: as if he’s the most interesting thing there is.

A brief glance at their surroundings confirm that – yes, that’s actually quite the possibility. 

It doesn’t stop him from scowling. “You don’t wanna know.”

The idiot – Jack realises that the insult is a substitute for a name – the idiot rolls his eyes, as if it isn’t _him_ that’s the complete weirdo in the situation. “Why did’ya think I asked, you arse? ‘Course I wanna know. I’m bored and there’s a brooding tough lad convinced that crying’s for fags, apparently.” 

He tenses at the slur. 

The idiot – no, the _asshole_ – continues, either unaware or unbothered by his sudden defensive posture. “And he’s lookin’ this close to stepping out into traffic. C’mon, tell!” 

_“You don’t wanna know.”_ His conviction is stronger this time. And it hurts. 

There’s a long silence. It drags on, and Jack can _feel_ the sting of the burn; seared into his face as the _idiot_ just _stares._ He _stares,_ like he knows something, and when Jack feels something wet on his cheek, he doesn’t bother wiping it away. The idiot’s seen it, anyway. There’s no point.

A hand lands on his, startling him into jumping away. The grin isn’t there when the idiot speaks. “What’s your name?” 

He doesn’t reply. Maybe it’s the shock, or maybe it’s the stubbornness. The plausible conclusion is both.

A sigh escapes the boy, “I don’t have one.” 

Jack blinks. “What?” 

“I didn’t know my dad or ma. They’re dead, probably. I don’t really care. My friends found me wandering the streets at age... five, or something. They gave me one.” 

The idiot turns back to him with a renewed vigour and a brighter _(how?!)_ smile. “Let’s start over. Hey, my name’s Harry. What’s yours?” 

He holds out a hand, and it only takes him a second to grasp it. “Jack.” 

“Jack!” Harry beams, enthusiastic. “Great name. One syllable. Brilliant.” 

“Shut up.” 

The idiot sniggers. And yes, he may have a name, but Jack prefers idiot. Rolls off the tongue better. 

“You don’t happen to have a house, do you, Jack?” 

He only realises he was grinning when it slips off his face. Harry punches him in the shoulder. “Great! We won’t need one. C’mon, I’ll show you mine.” 

“You have one?” 

The idiot rolls his eyes again, snorting. “No. Yes, actually – it's ours. Me and my friends. They picked me up off the street, it’s about time I passed on the favour, yeah?” 

Jack can’t help it when his smile returns. “Yeah.” 

“’Bout time.”

**Author's Note:**

> ...See?


End file.
